


Plus One

by second_skin



Series: Mystrade Chronicles (Fluff with Slightly Silly Mycroft) [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Mycroft brings a guest to a posh diplomatic event. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plus One

**Author's Note:**

> _Honestly, I just wrote this because I need Mycroft and Hillary Clinton to be pals. I believe that HIllary is the U.S. equivalent of Mycroft, and that they often meet in a secure facility above the Arctic Circle to run the world. They both have a thing for silver hair.  
>  This was written for sc010f's Lusty Month of Mycroft and shouldboverthis's Happiness meme in 2011 (both on LJ). This fic may cause tooth decay._

 

In the foyer of the grand ballroom, Angela Merkel, Hillary Clinton, and Michelle Obama were chatting cordially as Mycroft emerged from the cloakroom. Hillary, always a tease, pinched Mycroft on the shoulder as he tried to slip by. Glancing at his hair and his grey silk waistcoat, both of which were askew in a decidedly just-been-shagged way, she chirped, “Mycroft Holmes, what _have_ you been up to? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so . . . glowing.”

Mycroft pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, then attempted to smooth his hair and straighten his suit without acknowledging Angela’s knowing smirk. He glanced shyly at a smiling Michelle, who handed him a glass of champagne.

He fumbled for a bit of small talk to divert their attention, and then suddenly Greg was at his side, running a hand through his own thick silver hair and touching his palm protectively to Mycroft’s back.

“Oh, Greg . . . good. Allow me to introduce you to Chancellor Angela Merkel, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and Mrs. Obama. Ladies, this is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade of Scotland Yard.”

Mycroft watched the women’s eyes widen and darken a bit in appreciation as they shook Greg’s hand, and took in all his obvious charms. Michelle began twirling a lock of her hair and giggling for no apparent reason when Greg said, “Very pleased to meet you.” And Hillary actually licked her lips and fondled Greg's lapel before Mycroft realized he had better assert himself and took her gently by the elbow, saying, “Perhaps we should all move into the main hall so we can hear the music and mingle a bit more?”

As they walked into the grand, marble-tiled space, twinkling with chandeliers and diamond earrings, Merkel leaned in to whisper in Mycroft’s ear, “You are a lucky bastard, Mycroft. I retract everything I’ve ever said about your dreadful taste in men. I hope you keep this one.”

Mycroft’s chest swelled and his heart began thumping a little faster, pumping a solution of adrenaline and elation to every capillary. His right hand went involuntarily to pat his left breast pocket to make sure the ring was still there. As he let his hand fall back to his side, he felt Greg’s warm, thick fingers wrap around his and squeeze.

“Jesus Christ, Mycroft. Look at all these people. I can’t fucking believe you talked me into this. You’d better not leave me alone with a bunch of tossers tonight.”

“No, no I won’t leave you,” laughed Mycroft, not even bothering with his usual “Let’s keep the colourful language to a minimum, Inspector” warning.

Mycroft felt the breath rush out of his lungs when he turned to look into Greg’s brown eyes, as the detective squinted in a half-grimace, half-grin. And then Mycroft leaned in a little closer, tightening his grip, and whispered, “I won't leave you. Not tonight. Not ever."


End file.
